


the hallways of the home

by AutumnHobbit



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Feels, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Movie, Team as Family, sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 16:57:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3700028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnHobbit/pseuds/AutumnHobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now, when he suddenly has a former assassin, a maniac and two thugs for roommates, it's a bit of culture shock. It was kinda cool to have company once in a while, sure--but learning to live (no, literally stay alive) while living in the same ship with these guys was an interesting experience, to put it lightly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the hallways of the home

**Author's Note:**

> I am never gonna get over this movie, goshdarnit.

Peter has had his own ship since he was nineteen years old.

At first, that in of itself had been hard to adjust to. Growing up on a ship that was constantly humming from dozens of people coming in and out at all hours, he was used to sharing space. It was a bit of a shock, drifting through the universe all by his lonesome. But he'd learned to be okay with silence. He'd have long conversations with himself, kind-of impolite imaginary conversations with the various scumbags of the galaxy he'd encountered, and more than once he'd sing out loud. He wasn't sure if it was necessarily healthy, but it sure was a lot of fun.

So when he suddenly had a former assassin, a maniac and two thugs for roommates, it was a bit of culture shock. It was kinda cool to have company once in a while, sure--but learning to live (no, literally _stay alive_ ) while living in the same ship with these guys was an interesting experience, to put it lightly.

When they'd gotten the newly-rebuilt Milano back, one of the first things that happened involved Rocket. The raccoon had claimed a corner of the common room next to Groot's pot, and had stayed there all day, and all night--and all the next day. And all the next night. Consequently, he was getting more and more trigger-happy, and taking apart more and more stuff and making more and more suspiciously weapon-looking matériel. Finally, Drax marched in, pulled Rocket away from the pile of parts, and began stroking his fur again. He'd tensed again at first, but was apparently tired enough to not bother fighting. Gamora had brought a sandwich and various other foods from the kitchen and coaxed him into eating a bit. Finally, Peter had dug up a few old t-shirts from somewhere and made him a temporary bed next to the pot. Rocket finally went to sleep on day three at one in the afternoon, and the three others had given a sigh of relief and gone to raid the alcohol stash, crisis averted.

For now.

This was going to be an interesting month or so.

***

Gamora wasn't sure what to make of the Milano. She'd spent the better part of her life in artificial gravity and environments, but she'd never been in such close quarters before.

It wasn't necessarily unpleasant. She was still trying to get used to this--one of the others passing her in the hall as she fingered her knife out of habit, constantly anticipating next moves. Deep inside her, a voice was constantly attacking her for being foolish enough to let her guard down. But this certainly was not Thanos. Her teammates could be dangerous, but also kind.

And she had her own space.

When she'd left Thanos, she'd taken little more than the clothes off her back, her daggers and her sword, and one or two tools for personal maintenance. Taking anything else would have attracted attention. That first night on the Milano, she hadn't really been keen on sleeping--but Peter had wandered over and led her to a doorway off to one side of the common room. He'd opened the door, and immediately a pile of junk fell out. He kicked it back slightly, then glanced up at her and shrugged. "It's not much, but it's quiet and secure. And it's yours, if you want it."

She had rolled her eyes at his meager attempts at flirting. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Peter Quill."

He'd shrugged. "Whatever. Offer still stands, though," he said over his shoulder as he walked off.

So she'd cleared off a spot on a bulkhead beneath the window, set her folded jail jumpsuit down to use as a pillow, and had slept for the first time in three days. And it was the best sleep she'd had in years.

The junk that had inhabited the store-room was gone now, having been destroyed in the crash. But the room itself was just as it had been. And it was hers.

For the first few weeks, she'd been a bit frustrated at having only two outfits, one of which was a prison jumpsuit with multiple counts of murder stitched into it. More than once, she swiped one or two of Peter's shirts when he wasn't looking. Normally she wouldn't dream of doing such a thing--mostly for fear of being associated with his other conquests--but like it or not, he was the only other humanoid who even _owned_ shirts. He seemed so careless about his laundry, anyway, that she'd figured it'd gone unnoticed. Then, one day, she and Rocket had returned from refilling supplies, and there was a stack of clothes in her size sitting outside her door. A note on top of the stack read _Next time, just ask_. No signature. It didn't need one.

Little by little, the room filled up with little mementos. An old pocketknife of Peter's that he gave her when he saw her trying to open a package with her dagger. A few gadgets of Rocket's that she hasn't tested to see what they do, yet. A wood carving Drax made one day of the last beams of sunlight falling on a grassy hill. A few flowers from Groot, kept neatly in an old soda bottle.

Once, before she and Nebula had grown older and perhaps less wise, they had slept in adjoining bunks in the dark, drafty belly of the ship.

Sometimes she wakes and thinks she's back there.

But then she sees the carving, and hears the soft sounds of life from outside her door.

And she can breathe again.

***

It seems like it was a lifetime ago that he had lived with others. His house had been small, but in a nice place. The sun shone often, and the spring was always beautiful and lush. Kamaria had loved to play in the streams and watch the animals. In the evenings they had all waded through knee-deep flowers, together.

When he dreams about it, he is always disappointed to wake.

He tries not to think about it. It has been years. Ronan has paid, and Thanos himself is unreachable as of yet. And here he is, with an outlaw, an ally of his sworn enemy, a sentient rodent and a tiny tree.

Certainly not the companions he would have chosen, but nonetheless there is some comfort in having company.

Peter and Rocket are confusing to be around and to talk to. They flat-out refuse to speak plainly and only say what they mean, and their speech often leaves him bewildered. Gamora is quiet compared to them, and keeps to herself for the most part. Once in a while the others will coax a smile out of her--Peter and Rocket's antics, mostly. But she is still hurting, and it's clear to see, especially for one who knows it so well. He owes her an apology, but he isn't ready to face her, yet. She, who had been a victim as much as he had. She, who reminded him so much of his wife.

Groot does not speak much. He seems content to sit and observe, watch the others go about their day on the ship. Once in a while, he will be sitting in the common room absorbed in some activity, and Groot will silently imitate Peter, then freeze the instant anyone enters the room. It is odd, but strangely endearing.

It has been so long, since he has lived in a home.

***

Pete's ship is a junkheap. But Rocket admits that he likes it in spite of that. Maybe even because of it, to some extent. The fact that Peter was a Ravager means that there are always piles of stuff lying around, perfect for use as climbing material. There are spots in the ship he can reach that no one else can. Sometimes he stays up there for a day or more, tinkering or just sitting, until someone would call his name from back down below, and he'd come out again. After a lifetime of it being him against the world--and then becoming him and Groot against the world--it's more than a little weird to be in a group of hairless nutcases.

But no one seems to mind how he stays up for days on end and tinkers--much. They ask him before they move his stuff, and contain their freak-outs upon discovering that something is explosive. Without being asked or asking, they reach things down for him.

Sometimes Drax hogs the shower, and Gamora tears up machinery for target practice. Peter sings loudly, and Groot is sometimes--fine, he'll admit it--is too damn happy for his tastes. So he'll crawl off and spend the day working on something.

But he always winds up crawling back out by the evening, and showing up in the galley just in time. Gamora brushes by him with a slight smile tugging at her lips. Drax nods at him, and Peter asks him how he's doing--far too loudly, those ever-present headphones in his ears. Groot smiles brightly and offers him a flower and a squeaked out 'I am Groot.'

He wonders sometimes if this is what a family is like.

***

The first time he'd woken up after the crash, he'd been disoriented and more than a little scared. He couldn't remember what had happened, or why he couldn't move or speak, and he wasn't sure where he was.

Bit by bit, his vision had cleared to reveal a small, enclosed space, metal and discarded weapons and clothing lying around, and he'd relaxed. The Milano. He knew this place. He'd been here before.

A few minutes later, Rocket had come running in, and clung to his pot as tightly as he could, and he saw his best friend cry for the second time ever. He couldn't talk to comfort him, yet, but he stretched out a branch and stroked his fur to make up for it.

The next few weeks saw him growing. The others took turns caring for him. Drax worked with the experience of one who had cared for growing things often. Gamora was gentle and hesitant with him, afraid of hurting him somehow. Peter was efficient and cheerful while watering him. Rocket was almost constantly nearby, and Groot couldn't be happier.

Since he can't move around yet, he spends his days on the table in the common room, listening to Peter's Terran music waft around the ship, occasionally dancing along, and watching his teammates go about. He sees more than a few arguments. He sees them fight over plenty of silly things, and wishes he could talk some sense into them. He sees them leave on a routine mission, and sees Peter and Drax half-carry a beaten Gamora back in. They and Rocket are the picture of guilt, and he watches them patch her up and take up stations around the room, all of them falling asleep in an odd sort-of impromptu guard.

She wakes with a gasp in the middle of the night, and he is relieved when Drax goes to her, even more so when when whispered apologies are exchanged, and they part on friendly terms, Drax returning to his corner and falling asleep again.

So one day, when he sighs a soft, 'I am Groot,' to Rocket, his friend just chuckles and curls up tighter next to his pot. "I know what ya mean, pal."

***

Sometimes Rocket still snaps his jaws at them. Sometimes Drax tenses at loud crashes. Sometimes the cybernetics in Gamora's ankles gives out and she staggers against him hard.

But for every time she stumbles, she also smiles. They're wider, and they come more often, now. For every nightmare, there's someone there to remind them that it was just a dream. Groot is growing back, and maybe the rest of them are, too.

And for the first time since he was maybe seven years old, Peter feels he's a bit better than alright.


End file.
